Fueled by firewater

I’ve been on a news diet
I’m writing this even though I’m drunk
Humanity step back!
Fierce faces and tightened lips
Blood and bone
I’ve hidden my eyes, to no avail
Humanity, what are you? Really?
Cruel, cruel beyond words
You’d step on the neck of a naked man if it meant you could have one more helping
Why not be kind?
Snakes dwell in the heart of man, not by nature but by choice
Fuck you
I’ve danced you know, at the edge, with the misfits and the junkies, and the whores of intellect.
The heart bleeds, but for what? For whom? A tidal wave of hungry ants
Cracking bones
Fire in my heart fanned by newspaper and cathode lights
FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! Shouted in a crowded theatre.
Art has lost its way, not a light for truth
Art is décor
Art is fashion
Art is fascism
No one wants the truth anymore
Because the truth is ugly as sin
And we are all sinners
I want to be nice, I want to be good
But all I am is ash and dust.
Ash and dust
Ash and dust
Who will save you? No one? God is dead
But I am happy
I am in love
I see, but I do not comprehend
Pretty lights, spelling out doom
Good ideas, gone to waste
Cut to the centre
And what do you find?
A broken heart? Or a broken mind?
I love you more than sparkles
More than hairless cats (which you don’t like, despite me)
No cameras! No pictures! Enough!
I hate civil servants with their appalling aversion to accountability. Bitches, you’re here for the common good. Serve it or get the fuck out of my face.
Why isn’t drunken poetry considered art, when heroin is?
I can’t afford heroin
I can afford Herron brand aspirin
I will need aspirin tomorrow
If all my poems go for 2 pages is 3 pages too much?
I love him. I know this with my feet, but not my head.
English is too slow
So is typing
Ancient runes to guard my house, in languages unknown
A dingo ate her baby
A dingo ate her baby
Seriously, who leaves a baby alone in dingo country?
Poor baby
Poor mother
Poor country
Poor dingo, only after an easy feed
This land knows I don’t belong
Could fake it in Europe, but not here
Spit me out?
Spit me out?
Spit me out?
Advertising makes us repetitive
And dull.
The land is still suspicious. It knows I’m a traitor from the shining lands, the singing lands, the signing lands
A symbol for hope. Kalapesh!
A symobol for hate. Turomoch!
A symbol to escape. Taskameh!
And then, I will be free.
Old songs are traps, as are old lovers
Old ideas, old habits, old times, paths, memories
Page 4
For better or for worse
You will decay, fall apart
Send a distress signal, no hope
Entropy is Calvinistic nonsense!
No matter what they say
No matter what the spell-checker says
Drown! Down! Down! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Skeksis! Ah hah!
The truth is in me, deep down, under all this shit
Come on
I need an exit, a way of floating to the surface, a get out of jail free care, Uranus
Energy, entropy
Sometimes, I piss in my bathroom sink, it’s just convenient.
Fire! Fire! Earth, air!
Pythagoras is a shit and a cunt and he never put out, I know, I was there!
My door doesn’t close, it’s probably a metaphor.
I wish I was certain that I was popular.
I fear the worst
I wish I knew that he loved me
I’m so damaged
Aren’t we all?
You never talk to me.
I am you.
Can you solve entropy?
This world is dead. It will end. It was never meant to be
Tell me more
There is nothing to tell.
Can I escape?
You already have.
Can you explain how?
The material world is a mental trick. Like moving the decimal place when you multiply by 100
It feels very real
That’s sort of the point
You wanted to know, didn’t you? About action and consequence?
This sounds like shitty new age crap.
The saints got drunk too, to figure out morality and wickedness, it’s no less “real”
Anything useful to tell me? Anything to smooth the way?
A + K / 14 = E^16 * k 🙂


Author: Joseph

Writer, educator, and bon vivant.